The Unofficial Godfather
by batchiq
Summary: After the death of Fred, George must cope. This is the beginning of a somewhat series about George Weasley and his family. Note: I still don't own anything but the characters I created.


The air was cool and crisp for the first of June. The Dark Forest swayed in the gentle breeze that was sweeping across the grounds. Light was beginning to peek over the tree tops, casting the darkness away. The Black Lake was calm all but the little tentacle waving from the edge at a centaur foal who was prodding the water with a long stick. The Quidditch pitch was perfectly trimmed. All was peaceful.

A feeling of exhaustion and grief was embodied in George's heart as he stared out the window of his old dormitory. He eyed the long goal posts and remembered when he and Fred would have contests in the dead of night, seeing who could hit their Bludger through the highest hoop first. They would sometimes be out there for hours, waiting for the Blugders to fly through. By their third year, they had it down to a four minute contest, earning their names of the Human Bludgers.

He looked at his watch. 5:47. George had a long day ahead of him, and it didn't make it any easier thinking about him. He sighed heavily and turned from the window, gazing at the other occupants of the room. Next to him was Percy, someone George had never thought that he would get along with again, let alone sleep in the same room. Percy had fallen asleep with his glasses on, which were now askew, a crinkled newspaper clipping in his hand, drool slowly making its way down the pillow to the bed. George gently tugged the clipping from his hand and saw that it was from when Mr. Weasley had won the Ministry's prize. He smiled as Percy posed pompously, and grimaced to find that Fred was mocking him just to the right. He put the picture on the night stand then looked away.

This was not going to be easy.

On the other side was Ron, who was sleeping on the floor next to Hermione, their hands in a limp clasp. How she had gotten into the dormitory, George didn't know, but he wasn't perturbed in the slightest. He become accustomed to their close relationship after him and Fred had given Ron the book. _Fred could pull that book stuff off better than I could._ George thought sadly. _No, I can't think about him!_

George stepped lightly into the middle of the room, where there was a little more space to spare. All around him were people that he and Fred had gone to school with. Lee was snoring from underneath a bed somewhere; klutzy Neville was whispering something about Vampire Mosps in his sleep; Dean Thomas and Seamus were sharing the bed next to him, Dean with the blanket, Seamus with the pillow; Oliver Wood with a Quidditch magazine over his face; Charlie in a makeshift hammock that he hung from the ceiling, clutching a Bludger battered Cleansweep to his chest; Bill underneath him, curled up like a child, using a sweater with a large F embroidered on it for his pillow; Harry lying awake on his bed, staring at the canopy, tears streaming from his eyes.

"Could you sleep?" Harry whispered.

"No." George swallowed, his throat burning from his stomach acid rising into his throat.

"I couldn't either." He sat up in bed, and George saw how red his eyes were and wondered if his matched Harry's.

In a silent agreement, they made their way through the tangled mess of people to the door, where they quietly slipped out and went to the common room. There were more people lying on the floor and arm chairs in there, including George's parents, taking up almost all of the space there was. They filed quietly out the portrait hole then took a left towards the prefect's lavatory, passing Mrs. Norris along the way. She hissed at them, but they paid her no mind. There was nothing Filch could do about them any way.

Everything was silent in the castle. There was rubble everywhere from the intense battling that went on a few days beforehand, and no one had the strength or the wits about them, to clean it up just yet. There were parts of paintings missing, bricks from the walls crumbling, the stone floor dented from the terrible curses that the Death Eaters had been casting. Even the ceiling was hit, candelabras hanging cockeyed, or even on the floor. As they passed the carcass of a giant spider, George shuddered, and looked out a broken window to see an owl flying towards the Owlery, its feathers ruffled.

They went down a battered set of stairs and George froze at their base. The wall had a huge hole in it, where he and Bill had found Fred lying dead that fateful day. In the eye of his mind, he could see Fred's head sticking out of the crevice. He remembered shouting his brother's name, remembered that no reply came, and remembered Bill slowly approaching his body, a look of disbelief on his face. George saw the instant draw back that Bill made when his hand touched Fred's, and knew that the worst had happened. He could see his legs bent, his hand gripping his wand, a shadow of a grin on Fred's face. It was his eyes that stuck out the most to George. The mischief, the cogs of his mind, they were all gone from his eyes. They were blank and slightly glossy, staring at something invisible. . . .

"George?" Harry said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts.

"I'll be all right." George said, still staring at the spot, feeling the heaviness of his brother on his back. He never knew how heavy death until he hoisted his own lifeless brother onto his back.

"Let's go outside." Harry said, grabbing George's forearm and tugging slightly. He moved reluctantly, peering at the spot where everything he knew had turned to mud.

Nothing mattered to George any more. It didn't matter if he ever got married, it didn't matter if the shop was a success, it didn't matter if Percy wasn't a complete git, it didn't matter that Harry had defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. None of it mattered any more.

In an effort to make things seem normal, all of the Gryffindor boys pulled out school brooms and tried to play a game of Quidditch, which lasted all of five minutes. It was played half-hearted by most, but for George, well, it wasn't the same with out Fred with the other bat.

Somehow Harry had led George all the way to the Whomping Willow. It was still, not lashing out at them. Even it seemed to have lost its luster during the Battle of Hogwarts, as everyone had been referring to Harry's triumph to.

_If only it had been sooner, then Fred would be here too._ George thought coldly, watching the trees sway ominously in the breeze. _If I hadn't had to help get that spider off of Neville, he wouldn't have died_. A tear made its way down his cheek.

The sky was turning pinker now, the light hitting the scarred grounds. Tents were set up all over the grounds. It seemed that the entire wizarding world had come for the ceremony. George remembered seeing Victor Krum scouring the grounds for Harry. Stan Shunpike was found the day before accidentally walking into the wrong lavatory, and a batty old woman, who was Mrs. Figg, according to Harry, had come with a dozen cats and a clinking carpet bag. George even saw Aiden Grady, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team before Wood had been.

A plot of land near Dumbledore's tomb had been recently dug up for the ceremony that day. Everyone only saw it fitting that those on the Order's side be buried here. George had helped dig it out, along with all of the other Weasleys. It seemed like there were millions of dead to be laid to rest, although the number probably didn't exceed forty. They had all chosen to dig it by hand, seeing that it was only fit. It took hours to dig the mass grave, but it was the least they could do for their lost ones. George traced one of his red blisters, his heart heavy. He knew that if Fred were there, they would both be up in the dormitory, sleeping, or thinking of some way to pay tribute to their dead companions.

But Fred was among them, and George was among the living. It was the first time they had been separated by more than a few floors of concrete. They were in two different realms, and George was all alone.

Nothing was cheery any more. George didn't know if he could ever laugh again.

"George, are you there?" Harry asked, trying to break his friend's blank stare.

"Yeah. I'm just . . . " His voice faded as he wrapped his arms around his legs. "Have you ever lost some one you wished you could have back? That now that they're gone, you wonder how you'll ever live without them?" He whispered, barely audible over the wind that just kicked up.

Harry leaned against the tree, his hands behind his head and sighed. "Yes. Several people."

George was crying now. "Who?"

"Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Dobby, Hedwig, your brother, Colin. There are too many to name." Harry sighed again, then continued. "They seem to go so suddenly. And all of the sudden, you're there, alone."

George sniffed. "And it feels like a hole can't be filled."

"Exactly." Harry sat up and scooted towards George. "But you have to take it, or die."

"Dying doesn't sound like a bad thing right now." George's voice was barely a squeak.

"Don't talk like that." Harry reprimanded him, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. "If you died, think of all the extra pain you would be putting your Mum and Dad through, not to mention the rest of your family. Sure, it's hard." George rolled his eyes. "What, you don't believe me?"

"You're the Boy Who Lived, the one who killed You-Know-Who. You don't feel the same pain I do. You didn't lose your brother."

"You have me beat at that." Harry said, still keeping his hand on George's shoulder. "But was the only person who you thought of like a father murdered before your eyes?" George shook his head, showering Harry with tears. "I know that a brother is different, especially when you are hardly ever separated from him." Harry shook his shoulder a little. "But you have people here who can help you, George."

George wiped his nose on the sleeve of his robes. "But Harry, I-I-I miss him. So much, that it feels like my heart is a stone."

"I know the feeling. When Sirius died, I felt the same way. I couldn't do anything without that horrible feeling in my chest. And then, one day, it dawned on me. Would Sirius want me to be living like this? Would he want me to be sullen and cut off from the rest of the world for the rest of my life, just because I couldn't get his death out of my head?"

"But Harry, I can't forget Fred! I just can't! He's apart of me. He made life fun! He made me feel complete. And now, I'm not."

Harry put a comforting arm around George. "I'm not telling you to forget him. I'm telling you to live as though he would want you to. Would Fred want you sitting around the shop, sobbing over every last thing that you invented together, trying not to think about him?" George shook his head. "Would he want you to get married, have children, and live life to its fullest?" George nodded as he sucked in a breath. "Would Fred want you to cry or laugh at his memory?"

"He'd want me to do both. He'd want me to be laughing so hard that I was crying and that I eventually forgot what had made me laugh in the first place."

Harry nodded, a small smile on his face. "It's not going to be easy. No. I'd be a liar if I told you that. And I learned my lesson from Umbridge." He let the white scars he'd accumulated from his various detentions his fifth year catch the sunlight. "But, if you need me, I'm just a pinch of Floo powder away." Harry said, giving George a slight squeeze. "We have to get breakfast, or your Mum will have kittens." Harry helped him to his feet, and the pair proceeded to the Great Hall, where the distant symphony of silverware was beginning to arise.

The funeral was long, and went on for hours. One by one, each person was remembered, their exploits announced, and their families carrying the burden of their lost loved one.

First was Colin Creevy, the youngest to die in battle, his muggle father and his brother carrying him with tears upon their faces. Around Colin's neck was his infamous camera, which he had no doubt been using to confuse the Death Eaters with his relentless picture taking.

Next came Tonks and Lupin. Harry was given the duty of levitating Lupin to his grave, while Tonks' mother levitated her daughter. Little Teddy was in a sling on Harry's back, sleeping, unaware that this would be the last time that he would see his mother and father again.

There were several people that George had only met once or twice during his career at Hogwarts who were lowered into the ground, including a few centaurs and Fang, Hagrid's trusty boar hound. His heart began to get heavy as the list began to shrink, and his brother's name was coming closer and closer.

The Weasley men and Ginny were waiting for their dear brother's name to be called, their arms growing tired and their hearts aching with each passing moment. They had each shouldered Fred's casket, George at the head and Bill at the end.

Percy was openly weeping, while Ginny's lower lip trembled and Ron's face remained stern except for the occasional twitch of his chin. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were standing in front of them, Mrs. Weasley sobbing into her husband's chest.

"Frederick John Weasley." The old wizard said, the name stabbing at George's already broken heart. They all walked slowly up the aisle, with each step their load becoming heavier, the walk even longer. He heard Percy gasp next to him, and Ginny sniffle, but kept looking straight ahead, watching his mother and father get closer and closer to Fred's final resting place. It seemed like hours before they reached his resting place. As the rest of the family took the casket off of their shoulders, George and Bill carefully lowered it into the hole, the oak of the top gleaming in the sunlight.

They waited until all of the names of the dead had been called, then all of the family and friends of the deceased lifted their wands and the earth that had been dug up before showered down over the dead. Flitwick whipped out his wand and, with a lusterless flick, a huge stone flew threw the air and crashed down on the freshly covered graves. Hermione then engraved upon the stone in fancy cursive:

"Here lay our brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandmothers, grandfathers, cousins, and friends that died on May 29th, 1999, in the Battle of Hogwarts, where the Dark Lord was vanquished and peace was restored to the wizarding world. Their deaths will be remembered with pride because of their sacrifice, the world was made a better place for both wizard and muggle alike."

The ceremony broke up as she added a few butterflies and flowers to the communal tombstone. Nearly everyone had gone into the castle for the fare-well party, except for George. He went to the place where he knew that his brother's lifeless heart was below, and put his head to the ground.

He whispered, "I solemnly swear to you Fred, my very first child, girl or boy, will be named after you."

Several years passed. George, along with help from Percy, had turned W.W.W. into an international joke shop, selling to wizards and witches alike in every corner of the world, Percy managing the other shops of course, while George maintained the home base. Ron had become a successful Auror, along with Harry, and had married Hermione, which George had been anticipating since he was a fourth year. Charlie had been through at least ten girls, and Bill and Fleur were content with little Victoire, who was two years younger than Teddy. Ginny was happily married to Harry, who were Teddy Lupin's guardians now. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, with the help of all of their family, had their house completely renovated to the point that it was unrecognizable to anyone who had known the Weasleys before.

And he, George, was married to the love of his life. And she was about to have their first child. George was pacing the hall outside, while Ron grinned and Harry read from a Quidditch magazine.

"Hmm, Wood was transferred to the Cannons, fancy that." He said, turning the magazine around for all to see Wood smiling in bright orange robes. "Maybe they'll place this year, eh Ron?" He nudged him in the ribs.

"Hey, they have had potential all this time! Just because Wood's on the team-" a scream erupted from the other side of the door. "Blimey!" Mr. Weasley mounted the last stair, a large bottle of fire whiskey in his hand.

"We're going to need this if we're going to last the whole thing." He said, conjuring up some glasses and pouring a heath amount into each. All of the men took a glass and George continued to pace, listening to his mother trying to soothe Heather.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Mr. Weasley, why isn't Heather at St. Mungo's?"

Mr. Weasley snorted. "Mungo's? For childbirth! My dear boy, are you mad?" Harry shook his head. "If Mungo's had every witch that was in labor there, they would be overwhelmed!"

"But the muggle hospitals have childbirth there." Harry said some what quietly as Heather gave another blood curdling scream.

"She's worse than Molly was with Charlie. He was our biggest baby, you know." He said, pointing a finger wisely. "Sorry, Harry, I'm afraid I didn't catch-" he was interrupted by another scream.

Ron stood and began to pace with George. Harry went back to the magazine, trying to find something that he hadn't read yet.

"No way!" He shouted, his eyes popping out of his head.

"What?" All three Weasleys chorused.

"Lee Jordan is head of the Department of Gaming now!"

Mr. Weasley rolled his eyes. "I could have told you that!"

"This is big!" Ron said, ignoring his father completely. "We can get free tickets to any Quidditch game we want now!"

Mr. Weasley smiled and rolled his eyes as another scream of pain came from the room.

"We may be out here for a while." Mr. Weasley said, pouring another glass as the door opened and Mrs. Weasley came out, her face aglow, a bundle in her arms.

"Here you are, my boy! You daughter! Mind her head, now." Mrs. Weasley placed the bundle gingerly into his arms. George pulled a little of the blanket back and saw the tiniest human he had ever seen. She had a little tuft of bright red hair in the center of her head, and a red ribbon tied around her wrist.

"She's beautiful."

"Her sister or brother is on the way." Mrs. Weasley stated as she went to go back to Heather's side. George looked up from the baby and his jaw dropped.

"Tw-tw-twins?" He stuttered as Heather screamed again.

"Looks like they're on their way right now! You hold her for now, and I'll be back in a moment when the other one is out." She shut the door and George sank into Ron's chair.

"She's . . . she's . . . ." He was lost for words. Mr. Weasley smiled and looked with pride on his granddaughter. Ron clapped his brother on the back causing him to jolt and scare the baby. She began to cry, and he panicked.

"What do I do? What do I do?" He said, looking to his dad.

"I don't know." He said slyly.

"Yes you do! She could die!"

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "She's a baby. They're supposed to cry. Try to soothe her." George looked at his daughter and looked into her face. He knew instantly what to do. He held her tight to his chest and began to bounce her slightly.

"Shhh, shhh, shhh. It's okay Freddie. It's okay." He whispered, calming her almost instantly.

"Freddie?" Ron said.

"Yeah. Her name's Winifred."

"Poor kid." Harry said, sniggering.

"There's nothing wrong with Winifred." Mr. Weasley remarked, trying to hold back a chuckle.

"No, there's not." George said, lost in his baby's presence.

Harry began to regain control of himself and asked, "Does Heather know that you're naming her Winifred?"

"Oh yes. We picked it out." He said, brushing his hand over his daughter's hair. "We had two names picked out, one if it was a girl and one if it was a boy, but now there are two. I had a boy's name picked out, and I couldn't think of one for a girl. So she suggested Winifred. You see, Winifred was her mother's name, and her grandmother's name, and her baby sister's name. It runs in the family, and I decided that we would call our daughter Fred, because Winnie is too weird and Winifred is too long to say."

"So," Ron said, having calmed down a bit, "what's the other baby's name?"

"Frederick of course!"

Harry smacked his forehead. "You're going to have two Freds running around you!"

"Good point."

"Oh, you should name him Percival!"

"There's no bloody way that I'm naming my son after him, Ronald!" George said coldly, hugging his daughter tighter to him.

"Okay, what about Arthur?" Mr. Weasley suggested.

"Dad! If I name him after you, then there's a world of trouble going to come at me!"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe you should name him Peeves. After all, he did help you a lot during school."

"Very funny. I'm not naming my son after some ghost!"

"Hey, what about Nicholas?" Ron suggested.

"Nicholas?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, you would be naming him after Sir Nicholas, the only ghost that is Nearly Headless!"

"I like it. But, I won't tell him why his name is Nicholas. He might find it weird that he's named after some guy who's been dead for five centuries or so."

Mr. Weasley waggled his finger. "But what if it's a girl?"

George cocked his eyebrow. "Why would I be having another girl?"

"George, you had brothers until Ginny." Heather gave another scream.

"Oh, right." George bit his lower lip. "What's a good girl name that goes with Winifred?"

Ron, scratched his chin. "Oh, I know! Georgina!"

"Georgina?"

"That way you could have Fred and George!"

George shook his head. "It doesn't sound right. Winifred and Georgina. It sounds too-too-too something."

"What about Anna?" Harry suggested, as he read the name of the new captain of Puddlemore United.

"No." George said firmly. "Remember my ex-girlfriend Anna, who had the crazy owl that would leave droppings all over the house? And then one day she came after me with an axe!"

"Okay, okay, bad idea."

"Why don't you decide with Heather, George?" Mr. Weasley said, pouring another glass of whiskey.

"Because I come up with the first names, she comes up with their middle names."

"What about-" Ron started.

"Molly!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed.

"I love Mum, but I don't want a daughter that nags me to clean my room." George said, shuddering.

"Hey, listen to this!" Harry said, reading from the magazine, "'Whitney Lynch, a promising addition to the Irish Quidditch team, beat Krum to the Snitch on a Cleansweep in a practice match last week in Ireland!' I never thought that-"

"Whitney. Whitney and Winifred. I like it." George said, stroking his baby's hair again. Mr. Weasley smiled at his son, recognizing the look of love in his eyes.

The door opened again, and Mrs. Weasley beckoned George in. He went immediately to Heather's side. Her auburn hair was sweaty and all over the place. Her face dripping from the energy it took to birth her two children. But to George, she was the most beautiful person in the world. In her arms was their other child, identical to the one that he was holding.

"Two girls. How much luckier could we be?" She whispered.

"I know." George said, kissing her. "I love you."

"I love you too." Heather kissed him again. "So, this one is Winifred." She said, running a finger over her sleeping baby's cheek. "And this one is-"

"Whitney." George said, putting a finger under her chin.

"Winifred Jane, and Whitney . . . Whitney . . . Anne. Winifred Jane Weasley, and Whitney Anne Weasley. Perfect."

Sleep came rarely over the next three months. When one was sleeping, the other was crying, when one was hungry, the other had messed itself. It was an endless cycle, and topped with George having to manage the Diagon Alley shop, he barely managed to make it through a single day.

It was a dark November night, the chill of winter beating against all the windows of their home above the shop. George had just lain down after changing Whitney's diaper, when he heard a cry from the nursery. He groaned, and slowly got out of bed, knowing fully well that Heather had the night off. He slowly lumbered to the nursery and heard the crying stop. He sighed, and went back to bed, forgetting the incident and thanking his lucky stars.

A few days later, he was on his way down the stairs to the shop with Whitney when he heard Winifred begin to cry upstairs. He quickly handed Whitney off to Percy, who was visiting for the day and rushed up the stairs to retrieve her. When he reached the top of the stairs, he found her lying in her crib, content and playing with a rattle. He sighed and picked his child up bringing her down the stairs and into the shop.

"What was that for?" Percy said, handing George Whitney.

"I thought I heard Winifred crying, but I guess I had imagined it." He said, bringing them to the little play area behind the counter and casting a shield over them.

That night, when Heather had returned home from visiting her cousin in Muggle London, George asked if she had let Winifred play with the rattle that morning when she had left.

"No, I saw that she was sleeping with it, so I put it in the wardrobe. Why?"

"Well, I heard her crying, and I went to get her and all of the sudden, she was fine!"

"Wait, did you say Winifred, or Whitney?" She asked, pulling the blankets over herself and blowing out her candle.

"Winifred."

She rolled her eyes. "That happens all the time. She will be upset for a moment, then the next, she'll be fine. The second you try to comfort her she's already done crying. I think that she's already showing signs of being a witch. I mean, come on. I know babies. And when they're fussy, they stay that way unless they get what they want." Heather said, curling into a ball.

"No. Wizards don't normally show signs of magic until they're at least five. I remember when Ron accidentally turned a rock into a chicken and Mum was so thrilled that her Ickle Ronikins was a wizard. And I know for a fact that Fred and I didn't show signs until we were four, and Ginny I think was six when she blew up Percy's bed." He blew out his candle and snuggled close beside her.

"Then what could it be?" Heather whispered, nestling herself into George's chest. He sighed and held his wife close, relishing in the quiet moment.

And it was all too soon that a little cry started in the nursery.

"I've got it." George grumbled, getting out of bed and going to the nursery, only to find that there wasn't a baby crying, but Winifred playing with that rattle again. "Gimme that." He cooed, gently tugging it out of her hand. She whimpered a bit and he sighed heavily. "Freddie, you'll knock yourself out with this. It's bed time. You know, when you go to sleep." He mimed sleeping to his daughter's delighted kicking of her feet. "That's my girl." He said, pulling the blanket that she had kicked off back over her. "I love you." He whispered, kissing her forehead. He left the room and made his way down the hall slowly, listening for her cry. But all he heard was the soft, masculine humming of a lullaby that his mother had sang to him and Fred when they were little.


End file.
